AMERICAN FOLK-LORE

Once upon a time a wise Roman said, "The evil that men do lives after them.'

A good many years ago there was a baseball game between Minneapolis and the National League, a close and fiercely fought game. With the score four to three in the last inning and the bases full, a valiant slugger sidled to the plate to save the fair name of his team. Whether or not the umpire was crosseyed, he called the first two pitches strikes. The crowd howled for umpire blood, but the batter only entrenched himself more deeply and juggled his bat into a better position. Then came the next ball: a mighty swing, and Casey was out.

The wheel of time rolled on and only an American ballad kept the memory of this dreadful deed green. Then a short time ago a clever reporter came upon a man registering at a hotel as E. Robinson Casey. With sudden inspiration he cried. "Why, did you do it?" "I couldn't help it," Mr. Casey replied in a dull and automatic tone, "the umpire called 'em wrong."

Queerly eenough it turned out that Mr. Casey was in New York for a convention as the president of the Central New York Branch of the S. P. C. A.